Beethoven, Chopin, and Bach, Oh My!
by iluvskyfunky
Summary: When Cat gets to Vincent's apartment early, she stumbles upon an old piano.


This is my first BatB story. Constructive criticism is most appreciated. PLEASE tell me what you think! I'd like to somehow tie in music as part of a case that Cat works on, but I'm still brainstorming. Ideas are most welcome!

A/N: I did take out the song lyrics. I was told we're not allowed to put song lyrics in stories _at all_, so… if I have been told wrong, I'd appreciate the clarification.

Also, the building I use is the building that they found in episode 20. If I am wrong in that it's not a house (could it also be a hotel building? I'm not sure), PLEASE let me know.

Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast.

CVCVC

Beethoven, Chopin, and Bach, Oh My!

"Hello?" I called as I entered Vincent's new place. No one answered back, but that wasn't very surprising. J.T. was still at the university and though Vincent said to meet him here after I finished work, I had gotten off early. So, being the only one, I closed and locked the door before I started wandering.

I don't know how those two managed to find this huge, abandoned house, but it was like one of those old, beautiful Victorian style houses with the different colors and many rooms. So walking through it was entertaining in itself. Quite a few of the rooms still had furniture in them, though they were covered with white sheets to ward off the dust. Some of the rooms even had beautiful, old works of art that could probably be sold for a small fortune.

As I was walking through, enjoying my self-guided tour, I came upon a wide-open room with a full wall of windows. The ceiling was high and the floor was an old wood that somehow still shined. And though there wasn't much furniture in the room, the most important piece caught my eye. I slowly walked towards it and stood in its curve. It started out square, but then the right side curved in and rounded to meet the other side and its bench sat right under it and the sheet.

I pulled off the sheet and stared: this thing was in amazing condition. I reverently placed my hands on its top and just gazed at the polished blackness. It was an 8 foot grand piano made by Yamaha. I ran my hands over the top and the sides and awed at the smoothness that time had not managed to touch.

Eventually, I propped open the top, pulled the bench out, and lifted the keyboard cover. As I sat there, images of elementary and middle school recitals flashed in my mind's eye and I smiled. Yes, I did play the violin and despised it. But before that I had taken piano lessons – I started when I was 5 – and I never lost a fondness for the 88-keyed instrument. In fact, if I was honest, I missed the piano. I mean, sure, we still had a piano at my dad's place, but I didn't much like people figuring out that I still played. And I did still play… when no one was home. Sneaky Cat.

I ran my fingers softly over the keys and felt their smoothness. With the keyboard cover and the sheet protecting them, they felt like new and I wondered what the story behind this glorious instrument was. Before I knew it, my fingers were acting over their own accord and sound came from the belly of this wooden beast.

And I say that with affection. See, before I knew Vincent was Vincent and the guy who saved my happy ass all those years ago, my vision on that word was different from what most people think (for the record, I blame Disney's movie). Even back then I had a different understanding of that word. Everyone thinks of a "beast" as a "monster" or a "dangerous thing that needs to be killed." To me, that's part of it, but it goes so much deeper.

For one, a beast is not necessarily a monster; that word has a whole other definition in my book. And while it might be "dangerous," it doesn't necessarily need to be killed, just approached with caution. Respected. In my mind, a beast is an animal, obviously, that has the capability of being dangerous; this doesn't mean that it always will be, but it can be. Take a bear, for example. Not all bears purposefully attack humans. Usually, they stay in their neck of the woods and, if left unbothered, are just fine. It's when we start treading on their territory and threatening their young that they get pissy; again, approach with caution. Treat "the beast" with respect.

And that is exactly how a piano should be treated. It has so much potential to sound off glorious music. For one, this thing is huge and the sound that comes of it is so rich. But there is a chance that the piano's sound could be damaged. The piano has to be played right – no banging on the keys – and it has to be properly cared for – tuning, damage repair, etc. – otherwise the sound could be weak or out of tune. And an out of tune piano is never a good thing.

As I played pieces still memorized from my childhood, I was overwhelmed with nostalgic joy and newfound respect for this piano. Somehow, I still remembered a Chopin nocturne and managed to play that with few stumbles, and after that, it was a Beethoven piece (I never did make it to Liszt or Brahms). And then I played Pachelbel's Canon in D that I had memorized in 5th grade for a family member's wedding.

One thing about playing the piano that never ceased to amaze me was the musical ear I gained with playing. Sure, I can read sheet music, though I'm not the best sight reader on the planet, but I also picked up playing by ear and a song that seemed to always be floating around in the house was Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." That was the first piece I learned to play by ear, and as I played it, the tears started falling.

You see, my mom was the only one who knew about my secret love for the piano, and she was the only one I let hear me. When we were growing up, and dad might be putting in extra hours and Heather was at a friend's house – when it was just me and her – I'd play for hours as she did whatever she was doing. Sometimes it was work, and if she could, she'd work in the same room as the piano. When I got older and started paying attention to the songs on the radio, I'd play them too (though I had stopped taking lessons by then). I learned to play songs like "Ring of Fire," "Bohemian Rhapsody" (which was really hard, mind you), and "Billy Jean," among many, many others. But every time I started playing for her, she would always request as the first song "Hallelujah."

And after I had played it, she'd hug me around the shoulders and say: "You play that song so much better than anyone else," and then she'd go and do whatever it was she was doing.

The last time I played it was at her funeral.

As I played it now, I quietly sang along. Somehow, my voice didn't crack nearly as bad as it could have (singing while crying is hard), but the tears never stopped. I heard Vincent come into the room and stand a few feet behind me, but a bomb could have gone off right outside those windows and I wouldn't have stopped playing… I couldn't. Because I felt those arms ghost around me as I played and when the song was over, I heard that whisper in my ear once more: "You play that song so much better than anyone else." I was washed in feelings of grief, nostalgia, and warm, motherly, love.

Somehow I didn't completely lose it. My hands shook against the piano keys where they rested and I closed my eyes in an attempt to stem the tears. I took a deep breath and wiped my eyes as Vincent sat to my left on the bench. The bench wasn't that big and I could feel his warmth through the thin shirt he wore. I couldn't help but lean into him slightly. He took and held my hand from where it now rested in my lap.

I stared out across the piano as he spoke. "That song… what was it?"

I huffed out a breath and smiled a bit. "'Hallelujah' by Leonard Cohen… the last time I played that song was at mom's funeral."

He nodded, "Mhm, I remember."

I turned to look at him and was warmed by the emotions in his eyes: a bit of awe and a bit of worry, but mainly comfort, understanding, and love. I tilted my head, curious that he had been watching over me then, too. "You were there?"

He had a sheepish expression and he looked away slightly. "Yeah… those days I watched over you pretty closely. I mean, Muirfield had just attacked you and your mother… I was making sure they didn't try again…" He looked back at me, his expression more remorseful. "And I wanted to pay my respects… she was one of the nicer scientists there. She truly cared about us when she didn't have to. She was a remarkable woman."

He wrapped his arm around me as I smiled and answered. "Yes, she was."

We sat there for a bit, him holding me and me sucking his warmth like a sponge (I love that he's like my own personal furnace). Eventually, he turned his head to me with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

"So, you never told me you could play," he teased.

I pulled back a bit to look at him and teased right back: "You never told me that you were at the funeral."

He smiled, "Well, the fact that I had this really nasty organization chasing both of us down kind of puts a damper on coming out in the open… that, and the whole 'beasty' thing… you know, most people aren't as chill about that as you are."

I put my hand on his chest and leaned in, "Well then, I guess you're lucky to have me, aren't you?"

His eyelids drooped as he moved towards me. "Mhm," he said right before we kissed. It wasn't mind-blowing or anything like that, but it was powerful all the same: filled with warmth and love and understanding… it was one of those moments that I'm glad I never listened to him about staying away.

When we pulled away, his hand came up to caress my face. I leaned into it as we both looked lovingly at each other.

"I love you so much, Catherine," he murmured.

I covered his hand with my own. "I love you, too, Vincent… so much."

Then I placed my head on his shoulder as I asked, "did you ever play an instrument?"

He squirmed a bit, so I pulled away to look at him. The sheepish expression was back. "Kind of… mom insisted that us boys at least take a few years of lessons on something… she didn't want us to be 'all brawn no brain' I guess…" he looked at me, "we were really into sports. But, my brothers played the guitar and drums, yet somehow I ended up playing the tuba. God, did I hate that thing," we both laughed. "I quit as soon as I entered high school and never looked back. How long have you played?"

I looked at said instrument and ran my fingers along the keys, though not pressing hard enough to make a sound. "I started taking lessons when I was 5. Mom had me play in festivals and tournaments until I was in 4th or 5th grade, when I stopped taking lessons. I still played though, but only when mom was around. I don't know… I just didn't want people knowing that I still liked to play, I guess… maybe I was embarrassed… but when dad and Heather were both gone, like at work or playing with a friend, when it was just me and mom, I'd play for hours, just for us… I liked playing, and she enjoyed listening… she always asked me to play 'Hallelujah,'" I looked at him. "That's why I played it at her funeral."

He rubbed my shoulder and held me to him. Eventually, he asked: "Would you play something for me?"

I pulled away and looked at him. "What would you have me play?"

He moved his arm from my shoulders and shrugged. "I don't know… do you know any classic rock?"

My eyebrows rose and I smirked a bit, "Really? Classic rock? That's a pretty big group of music. You wanna be more specific?" I teased.

He chuckled a bit, and then challenged me, "Surprise me."

I shook my head and positioned myself to play. "Alright, you asked for it."

I thought about classic rock and mentally ran through the songs that I used to be able to play. It didn't take me long to think of a song. Actually, it's made a big come back, thanks in part to a new show called "Glee."

I smiled as I started playing "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. It's a fun piece to listen to and a fun piece to play. One of the greatest rock ballads of all time; still puts a smile on my face. When I got to the first verse, I sang along.

"Just a small town girl/living in a lonely world/Took a midnight train going an-y-where…"

I was caught off guard when Vincent sang the next part.

"Just a city boy/Born and raised in South Detroit/He took a midnight train going an-y-where…"

I think he was in the wrong profession. His voice had that nice raspy edge to it, but it was still nice and warm as honey. Even though this song wasn't really made for a bass singer, he was pretty spot on when it came to the tune. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and smiled as I watched him get into the song. I don't know how, but somehow this turned into a duet. He'd sing a line, I'd sing a line, we'd come in together… we must have been in sync or something.

As we sang, I'd look over at him every now and then and we'd "share a moment". It was nice to see a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. I was partially taken aback by how carefree he looked; I was glad that I had given that to him. I was glad we could share this.

When that guitar solo came through, my fingers just flew right through it. I was a bit surprised that they could still do that.

Somehow, the song ended (the recording fades out… makes replicating it a bit challenging) and we just kind of sat there laughing at ourselves.

Vincent chuckled, "Wow… I didn't know you were that good."

"Yeah right! Have you seen what a professional can do?" I said, "I'm nowhere near as good as them."

"Yeah, but do you think they could have played an entire rock ballad from memory from, oh, ten years ago and barely make a mistake? That takes some talent."

I huffed, and then smiled. "If you say so."

"I do." He smiled and kissed my hair. "Just don't let it get your head."

"Hey! You're the one telling me I should go on tour!" I teased.

He held up his hands, "Now, I didn't go that far –"

"What's going on here?" J.T. called out from the doorway. "I heard a piano… Cat, was that you?"

I blushed at stared at the floor, "Well, you see –"

Vincent placed his hands on my shoulders and spoke up. "Yeah, J.T. it was her. Why, is there something wrong?"

"No, no, I was just surprised, is all," He walked into the room and stood by the piano. He looked at the piano and surveyed its condition. "I saw this when I originally checked out the place, but I never imagined it could be in this good of a condition." He looked at me. "You play really well, by the way."

I smiled. "Thanks, J.T., but –"

"No 'buts'… being able to play by ear is not something all musicians can do… you know, there's a fundraiser for the science department coming up –"

No. No way. Uh-uh, no can do.

I stood up and moved towards him. "No, J.T. It's been ages since I've played piano. I don't think I can –" I looked at Vincent for help. He was starting smile… I didn't like that look.

"Come on, Cat, how bad can it be? Besides, half the people don't listen to the music anyway."

"Gee thanks, Vincent, that makes me feel so much better –"

J.T. piped in, "Doesn't it, though?"

I turned to him. "– As for you, how are you going to explain that you, as a biochemistry professor, know a police detective who plays piano. And how does playing piano even fit into the realm of biochemistry?"

Vincent stood to stand by me as J.T. replied. "For one, it's for the entire science department, not just biochemistry. Two, building a piano does entail elements of physics, especially with frequencies, wavelengths, sound waves and such. And three, being a detective does require a bit of psychology, which is a type of science as well."

I crossed my arms, skeptically. I was getting slightly desperate. I hadn't played in front of a crowd in a long time… "Usually psychology is its own area of learning –"

J.T. waved his hand. "Semantics. Besides, I can say that I met you when I went to pick up some of Evan's research. We _were _research partners at one point." He sneakily pointed out. "Come on, Cat. We could really use you. It will be nice to have live music for once."

Vincent slid his arm around my waist as I said, "I don't know… What if Muirfield makes the connection and –"

Vincent squeezed me to him. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Besides, I'll be there the entire time, watching out for you."

I really didn't like that. "Vincent, I don't think that's a good idea. What if someone recognizes you?"

He chuckled. "Just because I'm not seen doesn't mean I'm not there. Give me more credit than that."

I looked between the two of them and knew it was a lost cause.

I sighed. "I so hate both of you right now."

J.T. clapped his hands. "Yes! I'm going to go tell Sarah." Then he was gone.

I turned to look at Vincent. "I so hate you right now." I wrapped my arms around his neck as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

He smiled. "You'll be fine. And you'll play wonderfully. Don't worry." We kissed, but I was still thinking.

"No, but seriously. I haven't played in a while and –" he silenced me with a kiss.

"Cat, you'll be fine. I know you can do it. And you can practice here. I'm sure if we need to get the piano tuned, which I don't think we do, we could have one of J.T.'s students to tune it. I'll just make sure that I'm out and about. Besides, I like hearing you play." He moved to kiss me again, but I turned my head. Unfortunately, that put his mouth at my neck in a very sensitive spot.

"Vincent, come on… I don't… I don't…" He was nuzzling and licking and all coherent thought went out the window. For a while, I just soaked up all the warm fuzzies he was giving me.

It was my stomach that brought us back to reality. Vincent chuckled as he pulled away.

"Come on, let's go see if we can't find something for you to eat," he said as he led me out of the room.

I sighed. "I still hate the both of you, you know."

He smiled. "I love you, too."

Smart ass.

I was so going to regret this.

CVCVC

5/8/2013 1pm: I AM working on the second chapter... should be up soon, hopefully!


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